Conversion
by rayford
Summary: Post ME3. The Reapers are gone. Galactic politics are scrambling to pick up the pieces, and to hold the galaxy together. Shepard, having survived the events on board the Citadel (to be revealed), is brought in to help. But the path to peace is lined with danger.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, and welcome to my little corner of the webertubes. This story has been sitting in the back of my mind for a long time, and since it's been far too long since I've written, I thought I'd try to put pen to paper, as it were, and share it here, with you. So please, give it a read, and let me know what you think. All comments are welcome!

One more little note: Mass Effect and it's characters are not owned by me. I get nothing out of writing this, other than the joy of writing. So please don't sue me, BioWare. :P

* * *

He awoke slowly, the suppressed, muffled sound of voices nearby drawing his attention. Around him, all he felt was darkness.

As he focused, the voices began to have definition. The words meaning. He fought through the darkness. But it was not easy. As much as he tried, it was as though his body was fighting back.

He didn't give up. He never gave up. After all, he was Commander Shepard.

"...Shepard... waking up," a voice said from nearby.

"Shepard?" Another voice. He didn't like it. It was too loud. Too much, and it required far too much thought. He tried to shut it out. "Shepard, can you hear me?"

Suddenly, the darkness was pierced. No. More than that. It was annihilated, and replaced by the brightest light he'd ever encountered. It was brighter than any bomb, any star he'd ever set his eyes on. And it burned. Oh, how it burned.

Something moved, blocking the light. He tried to focus, to adjust his eyes, but he couldn't remember how. Before he could stop it, something was happening to his eyes. It was his first real sensation. Unlike the lights, this was cool. Cool, and... moist. It was water. Mist, to be exact.

He blinked reflexively. As he did so, his vision began to clarify. He began to see shapes, colors, and details. He blinked several more times. It was only then that other thoughts began to creep into his mind. _Where am I?_ He couldn't see much, but if he had to guess, it was the Normandy. _Good. That means I'm not dead,_ he thought sardonically. _Body?_ He flexed his arm muscles a bit, and immediately felt white hot pain shoot through his body. _Body. Beat up._

At this moment, something, no, someone crept into view. He saw the face. Recognized it. He knew he knew it, but even still, it took him a minute to pick out the kindly eyes, the wrinkles, and the gray hair of Dr. Chakwas.

"Don't move, Commander." Her voice was firm, but kind. And tired. "Blink twice if you recognize me.

_Blink. Blink._

"Very good. Do you know where you are?"

_Blink blink._

"Excellent. Commander, you woke a bit earlier than we anticipated. I don't want you to try and move. You're still very much not ready for that. Commander, I'm going to put you under again. But when you wake, we should be able to talk."

Before he could do anything, Dr. Chakwas reached out of his field of vision, and suddenly he felt a warm, liquid sensation spread throughout his body, before darkness consumed him once again.

This time, there was no darkness. Well, not in the same way. There was nothing to fight through. Instead, this time, he was gradually aware of thoughts. His own presence. Dreading what would happen next, he willed his eyes to open. The light was less harsh this time, which was a relief. That was when he felt it. The warmth. The familiar pressure. There was something soft, yet reassuring, and comforting in it. He tried to speak, but all he could get out was a rasp. But it was enough, as her head floated into view.

_God, she's more beautiful than I remembered,_ he thought to himself. Her icy blue eyes, normally piercing and analytical, now showed only worry.

"Shepard? Shepard, is it really you?" She normally controlled her emotions so well. But now, when speaking his name, it sounded desperate. Pleading. As if she wanted it to be him, but was afraid of getting her hopes up.

He tried again to speak again, failing terribly. Instead he smiled, and nodded as best he could.

In that moment, her face transformed from one of worry, to one of relief. In less than the time it took him to blink, she had him in what was easily the deepest, most passionate kiss they'd ever shared. In it, he could feel all the worry, the stress, the sleepless nights.

After what seemed an eternity, albeit all too brief an eternity, she finally pulled away, giving themselves a chance to breath, and rested her forehead against his. This was what he has fought and bled for. Nearly died for. Had been willing to die for. Originally, it had been so much more. He'd had the weight of a galaxy on his shoulders. He'd known the Reapers were coming. Had faced down Saren, the Geth, Cerberus, the Collectors, more Cerberus, the Reapers, Cerberus yet again, and finally Harbinger. In the end, it had all been for her. And he'd do it again if he had to.

"Miss me?" He asked, having finally worked moisture back into his throat, as he threw her his usual playful smile.

"Never do that to me again," she said. "Ass." She added under her breath.

"No promises," he whispered, enjoying the moment of bliss.

And a moment it was, as someone nearby gave a polite cough. Snapping out of their reverie, Shepard and Miranda both looked up to see Admiral Hackett at the hatch, a faint smile on his lips.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I, Commander?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard saw Miranda turn bright red. She had never been very open about anything that could be used against her. Hell, it had taken him months just to break through her icy shell. Even still, he couldn't help but smile inwardly a bit when he saw the sight. Meanwhile, Hackett, with Dr. Chakwas in tow, had strode over next to his bed.

Swallowing again, Shepard responded as strongly as he could. "No sir. Just enjoying the perks of being alive." It still took more effort than he'd liked. And it didn't quite sound like him.

"Hmm. Doctor, how is the galactic hero looking?"

Chakwas, having taken a seat at her console, didn't even have to pull up Shepard's records. Under Hackett's orders, Shepard was her only patient, and as such, she knew his status by heart. "Most of his minor injuries have healed, since he arrived on the Normandy. But, he still has a pair of broken ribs on the left side, a cracked vertebrae, and a hairline fracture along his right femur. I'd recommend at least 3 more weeks of minimal activity. Bed rest, ideally."

"Doctor, Shepard has been laid up for the last 5 weeks." At this, John felt his eyebrows go up. He looked to Miranda for confirmation, as she gave him the slightest of nods. "We can't afford to have him bedridden for 3 more. The galaxy needs to rally together, and Shepard is integral to that. How are you feeling, Commander?"

"Honestly, sir, I can't really say," he responded. "This is the first time I've really been conscious. Hell, I don't even know how I got here, sir."

"That would probably be the concussion," Miranda chimed in. "Dr. Chakwas and I were talking about it when we first found you. You'd sustained a pretty severe one. We were a bit worried for a while."

"Nevertheless, Commander, I need you on your feet. There is still work to be done, and the Alliance would benefit greatly from seeing you alive and well."

John sighed mentally. This was not what he had been hoping for. After all, he'd just saved the galaxy. Didn't that warrant a break? A little vacation? Apparently not.

"Aye, sir," he responded, keeping his thoughts out of his voice.

"Excellent. See you soon, Commander." With that, Hackett nodded to Miranda and Dr. Chakwas, and then marched from the med bay.

"Anything for the Alliance, eh, John?" Miranda said, dryly.

"You know, you said that with less sarcasm than I anticipated," John responded.

"That's because it wasn't supposed to be sarcastic, darling." She'd watched the admiral leave the med bay, but still hadn't turned around to face him. Chakwas, to her credit, had managed to find some report to bury herself in, though she was trying just a bit too hard not to eavesdrop. "You've given everything for the Alliance. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Hell, you've even died for them. You became the first human Spectre. You saved the Council on at least two separate occasions. And let's not forget the fact that you not only united every sentient race in the galaxy, but you also took on, and defeated, the Reapers."

She was obviously worked up. By now, though, he'd figured out where she was going with this.

"I know," he said soothingly. "It's damned selfish of them to ask more. But you know what the difference is between those times, and now?"

Miranda didn't even skip a beat before responding. "You're not getting shot at this time?"

When she turned, he could see the slight smile on her lips. But he could also see the truth in her eyes. She was hurt and disappointed that he was being asked to put the Systems Alliance ahead of her again, though she would never admit it. She had a hard enough time opening up, simply because of her upbringing, and there were still a lot of deep seeded issues. But the way things had been going, they hadn't exactly had time to work on, well, anything. And they both knew that if this was going to work out, that had to change.

"Actually, knowing the admiral, it's almost guaranteed that I will. The difference is, I'm doing this for you. In fact, everything starting from the Collector base on has been for you. Let me just get them on the right track. Then it'll be you, and me, and anywhere you want in the galaxy, for as long as you want us to be there. I promise."

"We better, John. Otherwise, we'll need Dr. Chakwas to patch you up again, once I'm through with you."

Her tone was joking, but he saw the tenderness and sincerity in her eyes. It was important to her that they get some away. He swore silently to himself that he would make this work, regardless of what it took.

With that, she leaned over, kissed him on the forehead, and walked away, putting a little extra sway in her step. _Just to remind me who's in charge, I'm sure,_ he thought amusedly to himself.

"Well, Commander, sounds like you'll be as busy as ever," Cahkwas' rich voice came from her console. "What say we get you out of here so you can get to putting the universe back together?"

"Actually, Doctor, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay here. I feel safer in here than out there."

Chakwas laughed at this. Too bad she didn't know he was only half joking.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again, folks. My apologies if this seemed to take forever to come out. I've sort of kind of a little decided to stick with a 6-8 week publishing cycle. This gives me some time to work on each chapter, as well as a bit of a buffer, in the event that real life decides to rear it's ugly head and slow me down. In all honesty, this chapter really only slowed me down because, no matter how much I revised it, I was never quite happy with it. The next chapter will have more actual **stuff** happen. Anyway, read on. Please, feel free to leave feedback. I'd love to know what you guys think! Thank you!

* * *

_He sat on the deck with his back to the dias. His armor was torn, tattered, and burnt to a crisp. And, to make matters worse, the wound in his abdomen was still bleeding freely. He removed his left hand from the wound and looked down at it. Immediately he wished he hadn't. It was pale and soaked in blood down to his forearm. He put his hand back where it was, trying to stem the flow of blood_

_"I'm proud of you, son." The last words that David Anderson would ever speak floated in front of his eyes. He blinked several times, trying to clear them away._

_"Shepard." The voice ripped through his skull like a bolt of lightning, dragging him from the sleepy feeling that was closing in on him. "Shepard." It came again, louder and firmer. He stirred, mainly from instinct. Somebody needed him. He had to respond._

"Shepard, we're waiting."

John shook his head and dragged himself back to reality. It had been been barely 48 hours since his discharge from the _Normandy's_ medical bay. Since then, he'd tried to stay off the extranet, not wanting to know what state the galaxy was in. He'd mainly wandered around the _Normandy_, checking on his crew. It meant a lot to them. Sadly, the one person he'd wanted to see wasn't onboard.

Miranda, with Liara's help, had been tasked with trying to track down the remaining Cerberus forces, and convince them to turn themselves in. Almost immediately after he had awoken, she had been on Admiral Hackett's dreadnought. Why they had been relocated, Shepard didn't know. After all, all of Liara's equipment had been installed on the _Normandy_ for months at this point. He suspected that it had been Hackett's idea, to ensure Shepard didn't go spilling the beans on what had happened onboard the Citadel to Miranda before his debriefing. But the last thing he had wanted to do was relive that nightmare.

He sat in the conference room aboard the Normandy, facing the viewport. Across from him sat Admirals Hackett, Ahern, and, he still couldn't tell if this was good or bad, Admiral Hannah Shepard. His mother. It'd given him significant pause, seeing her seated at the conference table when he'd walked in, and he couldn't tell if her presence was meant to be comforting or to put him off balance. Thus far, she'd remained silent as he recounted the events of what had happened aboard the Citadel.

"Sorry, Admiral. It's all still very fresh in my mind. After you had contacted me about the Crucible not firing, I crawled over to the console. But, due to the blood loss, I couldn't see, or hell, even think clearly. I must have blacked out, because when I came to again, I was somewhere...else, on the Citadel."

"What do you mean, 'somewhere else?'" This came from Admiral Ahern. "You were found in the Council chambers, bleeding out and barely clinging to life. Isn't that where you and Anderson ended up?"

"No. I..." Suddenly he wasn't on the _Normandy_ anymore. He was on the Citadel, right after his transportation from Earth. Bodies were piled up around him. It was overwhelming. The heat. The humidity. The coppery scent of blood that covered the deck. He stumbled forward, his leg nearly giving way beneath his weight. Every nerve felt like it was screaming in pain. But he had to go on. He took another step forward.

"John? John!" He snapped back to reality yet again, and let loose a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. It had been his mother that had spoken his name, and the look on her face conveyed her worry.

"I'm sorry, Admirals. It's all very fresh and painful. To answer your question, Admiral Ahern, no, that's not where Anderson and I ended up. At least, I don't think so. The Citadel can rearrange itself. It seems at will, too."

There was a genuine shift in the atmosphere of the conference room as Shepard uttered that one line.

"Could you elaborate on that, John?" This was the first question his mother had asked in the hour that they'd been debriefing him.

"There's an AI onboard the Citadel, Admirals. It seems that it is capable of rearranging the layout of the Citadel. It's what was controlling the Reapers."

If they'd been shocked to hear that the Citadel could be rearranged, then he couldn't imagine how they were taking this bit of news. Shepard counted the seconds that ticked by as the Admirals processed what he had said. A range of emotions crossed all their faces. Surprise. Fear. Comprehension. Anger. Contemplation. Awe.

After nearly half a minute of silent, tense seconds, Admiral Hackett leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table.

"Would you care to elaborate, Commander?"

"Yes, sir," Shepard responded, taking a deep breath. "Before the Reapers, there was the Leviathans. They were the ones that created the Catalyst. The Catalyst is like an AI, but more than one. At least, that's what it told me, though I haven't quite figured out what it meant. Regardless, the Catalyst was created to preserve life.

Now, before the Reapers were created, the Leviathans ruled over organic life. And they noticed something. Organic life had a habit of creating synthetics. Eventually, the synthetics would grow beyond their creators, and try to wipe them out. We saw that with the Quarians and the Geth. So, the Catalyst was created and tasked with figuring out how to ensure that organic life wouldn't be totally and completely wiped out from the galaxy by synthetics. This lead to it eventually betraying the Leviathans, and creating the Reapers. The Reapers aren't here to just wipe out all life. They're here to harvest us, to preserve us somehow."

Admiral Shepard leaned back into her chair. "So what you're telling us, John, is that by exterminating all sentient life in the galaxy, the Reapers are saving us from being wiped out?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Admiral," he responded. "They don't just kill us. They collect us. Harvest us. Store us, somehow. Then they go back into dark space and wait to start the cycle over again."

The Admirals looked at one another, possibly trying to figure out the logic behind this solution.

Admiral Hackett looked back at him. "What happened next, Commander?"

Over the course of the next hour, Shepard recounted everything that happened. Waking up in front of the Catalyst. The choices that it presented to him. It's reasoning for creating the Reapers and wiping out all sentient life every 50,000 years. It's justification for such actions.

Finally, the time came to reveal what his decision had been. He took a deep breath knowing that while they had sat and listened quietly lately, they would not like what he was about to say.

"And then I told it no." He paused, letting the statement sink in. "I told it I wouldn't play a part in it's system of control. That we wouldn't. It had had it's way for far too long. Slaughtered countless beings, time and again. I told it, _argued_ with it, that the cycle had to be broken. After all, I had reached its chambers, a feat that it itself admitted had never happened before.

Finally, I just sat on the deck, and watched the battle outside. Watched the fires burning on Earth. Watched everything. The Catalyst came and sat next to me. I asked it what it was like. Sitting. Waiting. Watching us all flitting around, day after day. Year after year. Why it hadn't just tried staying in the shadows, and only stepping in when it seemed like organic life was about to be wiped out by sentients. Like a police force. Like C-Sec."

"What did the Catalyst say?" Asked Admiral Hackett. He had been been listening with the laser like focus that usually indicated his tactical mind was in overdrive.

"It warned that the cycle was inevitable. But if that's what we wanted, that's what we would get. Then it disappeared, and the last thing I remember was activating my emergency beacon. Next thing I know, I was waking up in the med bay."

There was a long, heavy pause in the conference room as the admirals each processed his tale. After several long moments, Admiral Hackett spoke up.

"Well, this is quite a bit to process. I propose that we take a 15 minute recess. Get yourselves something to drink, and stretch your legs."

John made his way down to the ships galley. He wasn't necessarily hungry. He just didn't want to stay in the CIC just now. Normally he'd just head to the gun batteries, and shoot the shit with Garrus. But Garrus had been sent down to Earth to help coordinate things between Earth forces and the Turians. With the exception of Joker and EDI, the entire crew was still treating him with a sense of awe. He hadn't yet told them what had happened aboard the Citadel. All they knew was that he went there, the Reapers left, and he was brought back in a stretcher. The rumor mill must be working overtime.

"John." A voice came from behind him.

He turned to face his mother, a pained and worried expression on her face. He gave her as much of a smile as he could muster, which helped ease her obvious tension, as she smiled back at him and opened her arms, welcoming him into a hug. He hesitated for a moment. He was a commander, she his superior. And they were aboard his ship. He pushed those thoughts aside, and stepped into his mother's embrace. It was something he hadn't done in years, and who knew when he'd be able to do it again.

They stepped back after several moments, and his mother eyed him up and down.

"You've lost some weight," she finally said.

John laughed. While he knew that her comment was true, it was delivered so timely and matter of factly, as to really remind him that, though she was an admiral, Admiral Hannah Shepard was also his mom.

"Sorry. Must have been all the stress. I'm sure it'll all come back. Actually, with that in mind..." He rummaged around the cabinets in the galley, finally locating a packet of orange drink mix and a glass. While he filled his glass with water and poured in the mix, he glanced at his mom. "I'm sorry if I made you worry."

She brushed off his apology. "You're a military man. And more importantly, you're a Shepard. You were getting the job done, John. Like I knew you would. Besides, it would take more than a couple of Reapers to stop you. They'd need to drop an asteroid on you to stop you."

John winced at the mention of an asteroid. His mom had obviously not heard about his connection to the incident at the Alpha Relay.

"So, how are you, John? Really."

He gave his mother the most confident smile he could muster. "Truthfully, I'm a bit tired. It was a lot to live through. Some days, I still can't believe that I did. Now, though, there is the task of rebuilding. Finding out how much we lost. I feel like I've been going full steam for so long. I could really use a bit of shore leave with Miranda."

At the mention of Miranda, his mother had straightened up a bit, her body tensing up, as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Ah yes. The Lawson woman." His mother had adopted her 'mother tone of voice.' Something she only did when she wanted to let him know she was serious. "You know, Steven and I are trying to figure out what to do with her."

This took John by surprise, and he actually blinked several times in surprise. "W-What do you, 'what to do with her'?" He stammered out.

"She was a member of Cerberus. Not only that, she was the Illusive Man's right hand. She has valuable information. Besides which, that also makes her a member of a terrorist organization. And a very dangerous one, at that," she said, very matter-of-factly.

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was a woman who had risked her life numerous times to save his, just as he'd done for her. A woman who had come to Earth to help in their last ditch effort against the Reapers. Plus, she had to know how important Miranda was to him.

John felt the blood rushing to his face, and all he could hear was the pounding in his head. He clenched his hand tightly around the cup in his hand so hard, it actually made him wonder what it would take to crush the damn thing. He had worked so hard. Fought so hard. Followed orders when he could, and disobeyed them when he had to. All to save the universe from the Reapers. And unlike God knows how many cycles before theirs, he had actually _succeeded_. And now the Alliance had the _gall_ to try and take Miranda from him? John felt his anger turning to rage.

"Of course, Steven and I know that she sacrificed a lot for you. And that she, like you, has severed her ties with Cerberus. So, once she's helped us track down some of these splinter cells, she'll be free to go. And you two can have your vacation. It's not ideal. But right now, I doubt anyone will care."

It took several long moments for what his mother had said to sink in. The next thing he knew, he was laughing and had his mom in his arms, hugging her.

His mother, to her credit, endured it for a full ten seconds before gently parting herself from her overjoyed sons embrace.

"Thank you, Mom. Admiral. Ma'am. Thank you." He was practically giddy with joy, and could barely stand still and salute.

"You're welcome, Commander." She returned his salute, then leaned in conspiratorially. "But for the record, John, as your mother, I still don't like her. But I don't think any mother ever approves of any woman dating her baby boy."

Despite the whole situation, he still felt himself roll his eyes at her last little jab. His mom had always had the talent of switching gears between being a superior officer and being his mother in the blink of an eye. It really put him at a disadvantage some days.

From the elevator, one of her aids strode around the corner and into the galley. He was a young JO, with his red hair trimmed down to regulation length, and his dress uniform pressed a bit too crisp. As he approached, he snapped to a picture perfect salute.

"Excuse me, Admiral?" He asked somewhat meekly. "I don't mean to intrude, but we're at a five minute warning, ma'am."

Hannah Shepard looked over at her aide and returning the salute. "Yes, thank you, Ensign Booker. The Commander and I will be up in just a moment."

"Ma'am." Was his only response. With that, he executed a sharp turn and strode back to the elevator.

When the Ensign was out of earshot, she slowly shook her head. Glancing back up at John's inquisitive look, she sighed. "The young twerp was assigned to me just before the Reapers showed up at our front door. Ever since then, it's been snappy salutes, and 'excuse me, ma'am' this, and 'Admiral, we need to leave shortly' that. It just makes me want to shake his and yell at him to shut up some days."

John smiled apologetically. "Well, you are an admiral," he responded. "You can yell at him if you want. Or you can just order him to shut up. I tried that on Joker, once."

Hannah smiled back knowingly. "Oh? And how did that work for you?" She asked.

"Suffice to say, the Commander only tried it once." EDI's pleasant voice chimed from the overhead speakers. "If I believed it would do any good, I would attempt the same tactic."

John met his mothers eyes for just a moment, before they both broke down into laughter, and walked towards the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again, internet friends. Let me first say, that this chapter is too long in coming. When I wrote the last chapter, this one sort of fell into place in my head. But then, I started writing it, and ****_hated_**** it. So I rewrote it. Then rewrote it again. Then some more. For every word on the screen, there's 3 or 4 that didn't make the cut. In fact, I'm still not super happy with how it turned out. But I dunno how I can make it better, so here it is. :P Also, I'm a big fan of cliffhangers at the end of chapters. I like to keep people guessing. I'd love to hear what you guys think is gonna happen, so let me know in the comment/review section! Without further ado, read on!**

* * *

Miranda sat on the couch in John's quarters, her tablet in her hands. Absentmindedly she browsed through the days news. It had scarcely been 8 weeks since the Reapers had left, leaving the galaxy, and the direction it takes, to the younger races. And if the speed with which it had regressed back to its pre-Reaper state was any indication, then they weren't going to last long. Corporate scandals, celebrity news, political drama, and the like were the status quo yet again today.

Of course, at this point, with who knows how many dead, and every race in the galaxy trying to pick themselves back up and rebuild, perhaps some form of normality was what they needed. Even still, no matter how hard she tried, she knew she'd never be able to forget what she had seen. The atrocities that had been committed, and not just by the Reapers. To the rest of the galaxy, however, now was a time for parades. And speeches. And...Promotions. Miranda looked over at John, snoring softly in bed.

She stood up and padded her way up the stairs to John's desk. There, on the corner, sat the new captains pins that had been presented to John earlier that day. She picked them up and ran a finger over their polished surface.

Admiral Hackett had presented them to him that day, after stopping by to inform him that the Systems Alliance wanted to have a promotion ceremony in John's honor. John hadn't asked for the promotion. Nor had he wanted to give the speech. It had been an order from Hackett, who had then gone on about galactic reunification, rebuilding, power restructuring, and how humans needed to lead the way in all these things.

Political and military drivel, in her opinion.

Back in bed, John mumbled slightly in his sleep, before rolling onto his side and falling back into a deep slumber. She glanced at the time on John's desk chrono. 23:37 hours. Much later than she wanted to stay up. She walked over to the bed, and slid under the sheets, being careful to not wake John up. Not yet, anyway. It wouldn't be long until his nightmares started.

Every night since his discharge from medical, he'd had them. Same dream. Same time. She had panicked, at first. After all, she was Miranda Lawson. The Ice Queen. She wasn't the type to get close to people. She had no idea how to react when someone she loved had bad dreams. A gunshot wound? Sure. She could fix that. Tactical analysis? Hacking? Mission planning? No challenge. Nightmares about dead bodies piled to the ceiling and being forced to shoot an old friend? Not so much.

Of course, she had never had a relationship get this far. Her hopes and dreams of a serious relationship had flown out the window around the same time she'd fled from the arms of her father, and into those of the Illusive Man.

But then John had walked into her life. Not literally, at first, obviously. After all, he'd been little more than a hunk of flesh, lying on a table. To her, at the time, he was nothing more than a project. Something she was tasked to complete before moving onto the next one.

Then she was assigned to the _Normandy_, with John, and he'd carefully, meticulously, broken through all her carefully laid defenses. He'd seen something in her that she had thought long dead and buried. Her heart. It had begun innocently enough. He'd stop by for intelligence about their next mission, get feedback on the previous one. That was fine.

But more and more, he visited less about what the next objective was, and instead he came to just chat. To form some kind of bond with her, and lay the foundations for mutual trust. And damn if it hadn't worked. A few weeks into their mission, she'd come to a realization. She didn't despise this man. He was a good man. And an amazing leader.

And then, slowly, cautiously, had come the flirting. _"I can't admire your mind or your body?"_ The statement had been surprising, to say the least. Though not unwelcome. The next 30 seconds had been a flow of intense, but careful, flirting. And perhaps it had been a bit awkward, as well. After that, well, she hadn't really looked back.

Next to her, John began to breathe more quickly, his entire body tensing up. Placing one hand on his chest, and one near his head, she prepared to comfort him as best as she could.

He stood at the dais, and gave the crowd a few moments to wind down. Slowly, the clapping faded away, as everyone eventually settled back into their seats. He looked across the landing bay of the _SSV Tai Shan_, one of only 2 dreadnoughts left in the Alliance fleet. Before him, a sea of faces, all turned towards him. He took a few moments to compose himself, as he called up the Alliance approved speech on his tablet.

His gaze drifted over the crowd, eventually settling on four of his friends, seated just a couple aisles back from the front row, on the left side of the two wide rows of chairs: Tali and Garrus, sitting together, hands clasped. James Vega, looking awkward and out of place in his formal dress. And finally, Miranda, looking absolutely stunning in a white and blue dress that she had somehow managed to dig up. Shepard had only just managed to convince Hackett to let Miranda on. Everyone else had either too busy, or not approved, to set foot on one of the most powerful starships in the galaxy.

At the back of the crowd, as well as to the sides, in the aisles, and everywhere else they could fit, reporters controlled and directed their floating camera units, or spoke into their omni-tools. Doubtless, the words he was about to speak would be broadcast across every planet in the galaxy. Billions upon billions of beings could conceivably end up watching this broadcast live.

He took a deep breath, and began.

"Thank you, Admiral Hackett, for that introduction." He feigned a mixture of surprise, and contemplation. "Though, if it took me saving the galaxy from the Reapers to get promoted to captain, I'd hate to think what it would take for a promotion to admiral." He paused to let the polite laughter subside, before adopting a more sombre tone. "The victory that we have won was hard fought. No beings in history have done what we have. For that, each and every one of you should feel proud. I don't think that there was a single man, woman, or child that didn't, in some way, contribute to winning this war. To each and every one of you, I extend my personal thanks. And now, for the first time in an unquantifiable number of years, our future is our own." He paused a moment, letting the crown grasp the full weight of those words, as he ran his eyes over the crowd.

It was then that he saw it. He couldn't quite put his finger on what drew his attention to two particular Turian newscasters. Perhaps it had been the subtle shift in the the way they stood, from a simply forward facing position, to one that just seemed more aggressive. Or the fact that each had kept their floating camera units nearby, well within arms reach, rather than drifting around the crowd, like the rest of the reporters. Or, that they were on opposite ends of the two rows of seats. Typically, reporters from the same species would congregate together.

These were all things that John took in in an instant as he watched, in slow motion, both reporters simultaneously reach for their cameras. He felt his training and instincts kick in, yelling for everyone to hit the deck, as he ducked behind the podium, as he heard semi-auto weapons open fire.

He half reached for his hip, where his trusty N7 Eagle pistol usually lived, before remembering that he was in formal dress. _No arms,_ he thought to himself. As his mind raced furiously through his options, splinters from the podium exploded around him. He had a handful of seconds to make up his mind before his cover disintegrated. Roughly a meter and a half away was the edge of the dais.

_Sprint, slide, duck, stay low, surprise one, disarm and disable, neutralize remaining target._ The plan flashed through his mind in an instant.

John peeked around the corner of the podium, trying to catch a glimpse of his companions, as well as find out how far away the first shooter was. It took him a fraction of a second to locate them. They, like the rest of the crowd, had ducked when the gunmen opened fire. Thus far, they didn't look hurt. That could change quickly, though. Meanwhile, the Turian was still more than halfway back from the front row. Easily a couple dozen meters. Way too far to try and use one of his tech powers. Even if his target were closer, John would be hard pressed to land a hit. He typically leaned on a targeting VI for support when it came to his tech and biotic abilities.

John frowned. There were a few things about the situation that bothered him. Firstly, his friends, like himself, had either biotics or omni-tools. However, they seemed to be waiting to act. _Forming a plan?_ he wondered to himself. He had no time to try and puzzle it out. The most concerning thing he had noticed from his brief glimpse was the fact that the gunman on that side wasn't paying attention to John. Instead, he seemed to be searching the crowd. For what, John couldn't begin to guess. John shook his head. He'd figure it out later.

John took several deep breaths, as more splinters from the podium flew around him. Now or never, he thought. Pushing all worries from his mind, he sprinted towards the edge of the dais, nearly tripping himself as he figured out who, besides himself, the two Turians were here for. Only his reflexes kept him from going down, before he dropped into a short slide, and slipped over the edge and behind the dais, giving him a bit of shelter.

John retraced his thought process, checking for any errors in his logic, but he could find none. When the shooting started, John and the other admirals had been up on the dais. Out of everyone up there, he was the only one with any conceivable cover. Everyone else had been seated. Yet only he had been targeted. As for the second Turian, he had to be looking for John's teammates. After all, all dignitaries were, customarily, seated in the first two to three rows, and the rest of the attendees were either miscellaneous civilians or military. No. The only remaining conclusion was that Miranda, Garrus, Tali, and James were the targets.

John risked a glance over the top of the dias. The first Turian, the one that was looking for his friends, was rapidly closing in on their location. He had maybe 20-30 seconds before they were found. Meanwhile, the other Turian was creeping towards the nearest edge of the dias. In less time than it took for him to retract his head back into safety, John had a plan formulated.

_Jump back onto the dias, hit the podium with my Throw biotics, and try to target the nearer Turian. If it hits him, fantastic. If not, it's a distraction. Run at the Turian, slide off the dias, melee attack, cryo blast, then one to two more punches, and he should go down. Then I'll be armed, and it's more than a fair game._

John could see Admiral Hackett motioning towards him, trying to convince him to stay down. No doubt security was alerted to their situation, and was already on the way. It had already been just under a minute. If John didn't do something now, in the next 60 seconds, he, his friends, and the woman he loved could be dead, and he would be damned if he was going to let that happen.

Vaulting back up onto the dais, John felt a pang of fear, as his plan went wrong almost immediately. The Turian, rather than being caught between the dais and the first row of seats, was instead right next to the dais, with his weapon, a M-358 Talon, raised and sweeping across towards where John had now emerged from.

_A Talon?! That's a Cerberus weapon,_ John thought to himself. But he had no time to figure out why a Turian was trying to kill him with a Cerberus weapon. Without even bothering to aim, John activated his biotic implant, and as the cool, blue, fiery energy spread through his hands and arms, he channeled his powers into a pair of dense energy balls. Pushing forward his right hand, he willed the biotic energy toward his target, the Turian, and with a feeling that always reminded him of a rubber band stretching beyond its limit and then snapping, he first felt, and then saw, the twin balls of concentrated energy race towards his target.

_One heartbeat._ The energy spheres raced towards his target, who was now watching them angle up, to hit him from above.

_Two heartbeats._ Throw was still tracking towards his target. Even without aiming, John might just pull this off.

_Three heartbeats._ The Turian was now starting to crouch, hoping that the dais would provide some sort of cover. John knew that it wouldn't.

_Four heartbeats._ The spheres of biotic energy reached the top of their arch, then re-angled down towards their target, John's target, as they split up, one heading at the Turian from his left, and one from his right.

_Five heartbeats._ The Turian rolled backwards at the last second, neatly avoiding John's biotic throw. As the Turian rolled to his feet, he brought his pistol up and pointed at John.

_Figures,_ he thought to himself in his last moments. _Took down a rogue Spectre, the Collectors, the Reapers, and saved all known sentient life, and I'm gunned down at my own promotion ceremony._

The next instant, John's world was nothing except heat and light.


End file.
